


Alive at the End of the Day

by veleda_k



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:39:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veleda_k/pseuds/veleda_k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter gets shot, but there's more than that for him, Neal, and Elizabeth to face.</p><p>Set sometime in season five, but please don't ask exactly when.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alive at the End of the Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sholio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/gifts).



White collar was boring. It was all about tedious paperwork and going after embezzlers and insurance scammers. The most the agents had to worry about were paper cuts and carpal tunnel. Everyone knew that.

Everyone, that was, except for the white collar agents themselves. 

Peter hadn’t expected the smugglers to come quietly, but neither had he expected the pandemonium of bullets and shouting that now filled the air.

Peter was trying to be everywhere at once, barking orders, keeping the smugglers at bay, and, above all, trying to figure out where the hell Neal was.

Neal was supposed to have ducked out before the actual arrest, but things had gone to hell so quickly, and the exits had quickly become unavailable. So, Neal was trying to stay out the way of the people with guns, while Peter did his best to keep those people away from Neal. (Jones, Peter noted with approval, was doing the same thing.)

In the back of his mind, Peter prepared himself for yet another plea for combat training from Neal once this was over. At this point, it almost seemed like a good idea. Almost.

Slowly, Peter edged closer to Neal, finally close enough to reach out and touch him. After that, events were muddled. Neal was trying to look from all directions, but his head was turned the wrong way to see the gun pointed straight at him.

Peter didn’t think. He leapt in front of Neal, aimed, fired. Then the pain erupted. Neal whirled around, his expression panicked. _That’s a lot of blood_ , Peter thought dimly through the pain. _I’ve been shot._ He could hear Neal calling his name. His thoughts began to jumble. 

_Neal’s okay._

_I’m sorry, El._

_I’m not even supposed to be here._

Peter thought he should probably be afraid of the blackness that was overcoming him, but if meant an end to the pain, then he welcomed it.

Waking up was like fighting through a fog. His eyelids felt like lead weights, and it took him a minute to open his eyes. “I’m not dead.”

He heard a short, tired bark of familiar laughter. “No, hon, you’re not.” Elizabeth was there. Her eyes were red and surrounded by dark circles, but she was smiling. Peter smiled back. “El.” He felt too tired to say much more, but he knew she would understand everything he wasn’t saying.

Or maybe not, because she promptly burst into tears. With great self control, she stopped and dried her eyes. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.”

Peter could see her pulling herself together. “I need to call Neal and let him know you’re all right,” she said, calmly. “Clinton and Diana too.”

“You told Diana I was shot?” Speaking was getting a little easier. 

“Of course not. The last thing she needs is extra stress. I need to tell her, however, that you were shot but are going to be fine. She’ll want to know.”

Peter couldn’t argue with that. El laid her hand gently over his. “I’ll be right back.”

The loss of her presence hurt, even if Peter knew she was only going out to make phone calls and would return soon. Peter used his solitude to take stock of his situation. He was, as established, not dead. He was tired as hell and his limbs seemed to weigh a ton. He didn’t hurt; whatever painkiller they had him on was working, but he could tell that the pain was still lurking behind the medication, waiting to reappear.

Had everyone else gotten out all right? El had said she was going to call Neal and Jones, so Peter assumed they were fine, but there had been a lot of agents under fire there. He’d have to ask Jones or Neal.

Elizabeth came back in, looking slightly more relaxed. Peter guessed that Neal had something to do with that. His knack for knowing just the right thing to say could be used for good as well as evil. Peter didn’t want to destroy her relief, but there was something he had to say. “I’m sorry,” he told her.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “You didn’t choose to get shot.”

No, but Peter had chosen to be at the takedown. He always tried to tell himself that there was nothing wrong with working cases as ASAC. Hughes used to join in on the occasional case. (Though that had mostly been back when Neal was still a new addition to the team. There was probably a connection there.) 

And Peter couldn’t truly regret being there. Maybe one of the other agents would have saved Neal. Maybe without Peter there, Neal wouldn’t have been in that exact spot at that exact moment and wouldn’t have been in danger at all. A million what ifs. But Peter kept seeing it, Neal crumpling to the ground, his suit and ridiculous skinny tie drenched in blood. No, he couldn’t regret being there.

But he also saw the fear in El’s eyes and the tension in her hands. She deserved better than this. _I’m sorry I’m not the husband you deserve._ But he didn’t have the energy to say it, and maybe he couldn’t have said it even if he did. “I love you,” he whispered instead.

El kissed him gently. “I wish I could say, ‘Don’t you dare leave me,’” she said. “But life doesn’t work like that.”

Peter wished it did. He reached out his hand, and El grabbed it. 

A short, heavyset woman entered the room, and introduced herself as Dr. Hozven. She told Peter he had been lucky, though Peter didn’t feel very lucky. She went on, and Peter did his best to take in everything she was saying, but his usual powers of concentration were failing. Elizabeth was paying attention, however, and Peter knew he could trust her to remember anything important.

Dr. Hozven didn’t stay long. After she left, it didn’t take Peter long to fall back to sleep, and Elizabeth kept hold of his hand until he did.

When Peter woke up again, El was gone, but Neal was there, sketching idly on a small notepad. He looked up at Peter. “Hey. Elizabeth went to grab something to eat. She’ll be back soon.”

“You’re okay.”

“Yeah, Peter, I’m not the one who got _shot_.” Neal dropped his gaze for a moment. “Thanks.”

Peter shook his head. Neal shouldn’t be thanking him. Neal should be pissed at him. Peter had been in charge. He should have made sure Neal could get out before he sent in the rest of the team. Neal wasn’t an agent. It was the FBI’s job to keep him out of danger. It was Peter’s job. A job he had nearly failed at.

Neal seemed to notice Peter’s unhappy mood, because he smiled. “Pretty bland decor,” he noted brightly.

“So sorry it’s not up to your usual standards.” Peter was pleased to get the entire sentence out. He was feeling a little stronger.

“I’m helping with that.” Neal tore off the sheet of paper he had been drawing on and showed it Peter. It was a picture of the Burkes’ home, and when Peter looked closer he could see Satchmo lying on the lawn. It looked warm and welcoming, even done on scrap paper with a no. 2 pencil. Neal placed the drawing on top of Peter’s bedside table. Oddly enough, it did make Peter feel a little better.

Peter remembered what he had wanted to ask. “Did everyone else get out all right?”

“Yes, everyone else had the sense not to get shot.”

Peter scowled, but it appeared to have even less an effect on Neal than usual. Whatever he might have thought to say in return was lost when Elizabeth stepped in. “Hon, you’re awake.” She smiled at Neal. “I see Neal has been keeping you entertained.”

“That’s a word for it,” Peter replied. He yawned.

Neal quickly stood up. “I’ll let you get some rest.”

“Wait.” Peter shook his head. Then he halted. Asking Elizabeth to stay with him until he was asleep was one thing, but he shouldn’t burden Neal. Anyway, it felt weird to ask.

“Please go if you need to, Neal,” Elizabeth cut in, “but I could use the company for a little while.” She smiled teasingly at Peter. “Peter’s not going to be much of conversationalist.” Peter marveled at his wife. Somehow she always knew.

Neal sat back down. He actually looked a little relieved. “Sure, I could do that.”

Peter closed his eyes and listened to El and Neal make conversation. When he drifted off, Neal was trying to wrangle an invitation to El’s latest gala out of her. He’d probably get it. He hoped it was in Neal’s radius, because he wasn’t go to be up to playing chaperone for a while. _Not that I would anyway_ , he corrected himself. _I don’t spoil Neal like that._

He was asleep before he had to admit to himself what a lie that was.

Peter woke up to find Neal gone and El sleeping awkwardly in a chair. “El.”

She woke with a start. “Oh, Peter, sweetie.”

“You should go home,” Peter told her. “Get some sleep. Eat real food.”

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” It was meant to be a joke, but it wasn’t a very good one. Neal would have said that none of his jokes were good ones. Apparently, Peter didn’t even need Neal to be there, Peter could make sarcastic remarks for him. “Go,” he said to El as firmly as he could. He decided to play his best card. “I’ll feel better if you’re taking care of yourself.”

El snorted. “That’s cheating, mister.” But, she kissed him and, with one last lingering look, left him.

Peter was glad to know that El would get some rest, but he felt the sudden solitude sharply. He wished he had his phone and the energy to use it. He could call Neal. The thought of having one of their ridiculous arguments appealed to him right now. He was still trying to convince Neal that he shouldn’t judge baseball until he actually went to a game. Even if he did hate it, it was still an afternoon outside his radius, right? Neal was so far unconvinced, but Peter thought he could wear him down.

A nurse came in to check his morphine drip. He asked Peter how he was feeling, and Peter answered mostly honestly. It wasn’t exactly stimulating conversation, but it was a very brief respite from boredom. 

It wasn’t too long before Peter felt his eyelids grow heavy. Sleeping seemed to be his new main hobby. 

Elizabeth brought him crosswords and sudoku the next day, and by that time Peter was up to doing them. She didn’t stay long--she still had a business to run--but she promised to stop by after work.

Peter wasn’t nearly as tired as yesterday, but after a few hours, he nodded off again. When he opened his eyes, Neal was there, a book next to him but unopened. Peter twisted to look at the clock. “Pretty sure you should be at work.”

“Jones let me come see you. He’s going pretty easy on me,” Neal told him.

“His mistake,” Peter muttered. Neal took on a look of exaggerated hurt. There was something off about it though. Peter looked more carefully. There was a tension to Neal’s shoulders, and he looked worn out. Most telling though, were his eyes. They were red, as if he hadn’t been crying but had come close. Peter should have noticed it sooner, but he thought he could be forgiven for being a little slow. “Are you okay?”

Neal rolled his eyes. “We went over this yesterday, Peter. You got shot, I didn’t. Keep up.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I’m fine.”

Peter could leave it at that. Neal clearly didn’t want to talk about it, and while Peter would always be there if Neal wanted to talk, pushing Neal was frequently a bad idea. Besides, it would probably be an awkward conversation. 

But, dammit, he had just been shot. It was the closest to death he had ever come, and given the last few years, that was saying something. If he died of an unexpected blood clot tonight, would he want to end it like this--Neal hurting and Peter letting it go? “I’ve been shot, Caffrey. Are you really going to hold out on me now?”

Neal glared at him. “Elizabeth warned me you would cheat.”

“Look, are you going to talk to Mozzie about whatever it is?” If Neal planned to talk to Mozzie, he didn’t need to talk to Peter.

“Talk to Mozzie about what?”

Okay, that was a no. “Is talking about it going to make it worse?”

“Maybe.”

“Give it a try.”

“Peter, you’re lying in a hospital bed. I think this is the wrong time for you to be worrying about me.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, and you’re deflecting.”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope. If you want me to stop, you can either tell me what’s bothering you, or you can leave.” Peter was willing to bet that Neal wouldn’t leave.

Neal sighed. “Fine. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just stop stalling and talk to me.”

“No, I mean I’m sorry.” Neal gestured at him. “This is my fault, and I’m sorry.”

Peter closed his eyes briefly. “No, Neal, this is not your fault.” 

“You literally took a bullet for me. I’m pretty sure that makes it my fault.”

“Neal--”

“And it’s not like it’s the first time. How many times have you nearly died since we became partners?” And, all right, Peter had just been thinking something similar, but he hadn’t been blaming _Neal_. He was about to say so, but whatever had been Neal had been holding back was coming out. “And it’s not just you. Mozzie got shot, and Ellen’s dead,” Neal’s hands clenched in tight fists. “And Ka--” his voice choked off. He swallowed and continued. “And I’m the common denominator.”

The horrible part of it was that Neal wasn’t completely wrong. All those tragedies had involved him, and could in some way be linked back to Neal’s actions. But Peter believed in responsibility. And while he fully supported Neal taking responsibility for his actions, he wasn’t doing that now. He was taking responsibility for other people’s actions. Neal hadn’t made Pratt, or the Flynns, or Adler do anything. And the event that had finally pushed him into revealing all this couldn’t be placed on him at all.

Peter couldn’t help it. He let out a short, ragged laugh. Neal looked at him, appalled and hurt. “This isn’t funny.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said seriously. “But, really, Neal? All the crap you’ve pulled over the years, and you decide to feel guilty about the things that aren’t your fault?” Peter wondered if it was some sort of bizarre defense mechanism, if Neal was taking responsibility for events he knew deep down weren’t his fault as a strange way of dealing with the guilt for all the things that were. It sounded good, but Peter knew little about psychology. Maybe he was imagining all of it. “Yes, I took a bullet for you. That’s my job. And for once, you weren’t pulling a stupid stunt or taking unnecessary risks. It was bad planning, and even more bad luck. That’s all.” Neal still didn’t look convinced, and Peter could guess why. “I’m not going to claim that all the rest of it would have happened anyway even without you. I am going to tell you that I don’t blame you and that Mozzie doesn’t blame you. And,” he added gently, “I don’t think Kate or Ellen would either. A lot of people did a lot of bad things, and a lot of people suffered, both of us included. The only thing you can do is figure out if you can learn anything from it. If you can, then do so. If you can’t, well, then you just have to accept it and move on as best you can.”

Neal gave a wan smile and shook his head. “I really didn’t want to talk about this.”

“I think you did,” Peter said. Neal looked at him sharply. “You’re a damn good con man. If you didn’t want to let me know you were feeling this, you wouldn’t have.”

“You were supposed to be asleep,” Neal told him accusingly. 

“My apologies,” Peter replied sarcastically. “Do you feel better?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Neal sighed. “I wasn’t like this yesterday. I was fine. Well, not fine, you were shot. But…”

“Trauma’s tricky like that.” Peter failed to hold back a yawn. That had been a lot more talking than he had planned on doing.

“You should sleep,” Neal said, concerned. “You're not supposed to talk people down from existential crises while you’re recovering from gunshot wounds.”

“Is that the rule?” Peter asked sleepily.

“Yes, that’s the rule. You like rules.”

Peter laughed as best he could. It had been tiring, and definitely not how he had planned to spend his little time awake, but he didn’t mind. If their positions had been reversed--and Peter certainly had scars of his own--Neal would have done the same for him.

His sleep wasn’t a very deep one, and hearing El’s footsteps woke him up. She kissed him. “Miss me?”

“A lot,” Peter answered. “Did you have a good day?”

“Other than worrying about you, yes.”

“Tell me about it.”

So, she did. Elizabeth had a way of talking about silent auctions and corporate parties that made them sound as exciting as an FBI sting. Peter believed that to her they were.

He owed Elizabeth a long conversation too. He didn’t how to solve their dilemma, how to balance what he needed from his career against what she needed from him in a way that made them both happy, but he knew they needed to try.

But that would have to wait. He wasn’t up for any more soul baring today. For now he was content to just be with his beautiful, brilliant, incredible wife, knowing that he was alive to spend another day with her. For now, it was enough.

Elizabeth came by every day, and Neal most days. He and Neal never mentioned their earlier conversation, but they didn’t need to. Jones dropped by once, as did Diana. She wasn’t glad he got shot, she told him, but she was glad to get the excuse to get out for a while. “I love him,” she said of baby Theo, “with every fiber of my being. But I wish I could love him while someone else takes care of the 3:00 AM feedings.” Peter took the opportunity to be grateful he and El had never wanted children. 

It took Peter a week to get discharged, and by that time he was ready to start crawling walls. He promised the doctors that he would be careful and not overextend himself. He had to promise the same thing to El several more times, and he was sure she planned to watch him like a hawk.

He stayed home a couple days longer than he felt he really needed. Peter was anxious to get back to work, bordering on desperate, but he wanted to cause El as little worry as possible. Fortunately or unfortunately, needing to do something useful, he took it upon himself to recaulk the bathtub, change the oil in the car, and put up new shelves in the kitchen all in the same day. After convincing him she really didn’t want new shelves, El suggested he go back to work. Peter pretended to be reluctant, but he suspected she wasn’t fooled.

There was a get well card waiting for him at his desk his first day back at work, signed by the entire office. Peter propped it up next to a picture of Elizabeth. Then he noticed that one of his desk drawers was slightly opened. He had locked that drawer. He always kept his desk locked. He opened the drawer and carefully pulled out a small painting. It took him a few seconds to realize that it was a watercolor version of the little sketch Neal had drawn him while he was in the hospital. Peter wasn’t sure if he wanted to hug Neal or strangle him for breaking into his office. Settling on a third option, he put the painting back where he found it, then went out briefly to give to Neal the double finger point. Once in his office, Neal looked curiously at Peter, the very picture of unsuspecting innocence. “Finish the paperwork for the Takahashi fraud case before noon, and we’ll go lunch,” Peter said.

Neal nodded. “Sounds good. Where?”

“You decide.”

Neal brightened, then looked Peter suspiciously. “Really?”

“Nothing that will bankrupt me and nothing too weird, but yes.”

Neal’s smile wasn’t con man flashy, but warm and pleased. “I’ll think of something.”

After Neal left, Peter pulled out the painting again. He’d bring it home to Elizabeth. He thought she’d agree that it would look good in their bedroom. But maybe the living room would be even better, where Neal would see it the next time he came over.

He still ached, and Peter was doing every exercise he could think of to keep up his muscle strength and range of motion. There had a lot of pain and fear to get through. There would probably be a lot more; if it wasn’t one disaster, it was another. But no one had to do it alone. Peter knew it, and it was his job to make sure Elizabeth and Neal knew it too. 

It was a good day, Peter decided, to be alive.


End file.
